sort of calm detachment. He looked at the hole the bullet had ripped in the window sheers. Of course there would be a hole, but he was surprised to see it there. The hole looked odd to him, he didn’t know why.
His mind echoed with instructions from the Lord’s Shepherd. There was still one thing left to do. Killing the Deceiver was the most important thing, and it was accomplished, but Andrew’s task wasn’t finished.
He stepped back to the bed and stared at the pistol.
He didn’t like this part.
Normally this would be a sin, but the Shepherd had explained. God needed Andrew’s help, and so this was not a sin, not this time.
Divine dispensation for divine assistance, the Shepherd had called it.
He was God’s most faithful servant now, God’s special son, and when this last thing was done, he would be carried to paradise on the wings of angels.
He would be welcomed as a hero in heaven, and he would dine at the same table with Jesus and the Apostles.
Andrew Thibodeaux sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the gun, and put the barrel in his mouth, knowing he would be there soon.
Daniel leapt onto the stage where three paramedics worked furiously on his uncle. Trinity’s shirt was open, his chest covered in blood, and a square of clear plastic was taped over the bullet hole. Daniel dropped to his knees and took his uncle’s hand as one of the medics said, “Losing him…” and another said, “Pressure dropping…too much blood…”
Daniel squeezed his uncle’s hand. “God, please don’t die…” He could feel hot tears streaming down his face. “Hang on…stay with me…”
Tim Trinity’s eyelids fluttered and he looked straight up. “Can’t see you.” Daniel put his face right above Trinity’s. Trinity let out a small smile.
“Why, Tim? Why didn’t you wear the vest?”
“God didn’t want me to.” Trinity’s fingers tightened around Daniel’s hand. “It’s OK, Danny, everything happened exactly as it was supposed to.” Trinity’s eyelids closed for a few seconds, fluttered open again. His free hand struggled to lift the Bible it was holding. “Take this…”
Daniel reached across his uncle’s chest and took the blue Bible and held onto it. “I’ve got it.”
Trinity’s smile grew as his eyes became more unfocused. “Quite a ride,” he said. “Quite a ride…”
“I love you, Pops.”
“I love you, son.” Tim Trinity closed his eyes slowly.
He let out a very long breath and did not breathe again.
Conrad Winter had just signaled the flight attendant for another Bloody Mary when the pilot came over the PA.
Conrad put his headset on and tuned to CNN. Trinity had been shot at 1:34, safely after the plane was in the air. Always good to have an alibi.
And then came the news that assured Conrad an alibi would never be needed for this one. Police had just found the man who killed Trinity, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot, in the apartment block across from Saint Louis Cathedral. According to the Louisiana driver’s license found on the body, his name was Andrew Thibodeaux. He had been twenty-three years old.
The lost sheep had fulfilled his duty, and the world was safe from whatever upheaval Tim Trinity might have wrought. And Father Nick would never know about the involvement of the council in Vatican affairs.
Conrad turned off the monitor and removed the headset as the flight attendant arrived with his drink.
The nearest hospital was Tulane, and Daniel found Pat there. But Pat was still in surgery, so Daniel used the opportunity to get the cuts in his hands stitched up and a butterfly bandage on his split lip where he’d banged it against the wall.
He left Tulane and walked numbly down the block to a diner. He was running on empty, knew he needed sustenance, so he forced himself to eat, even though he had no appetite and couldn’t taste anything.
He wandered back to the hospital. Pat was now in a recovery room, asleep.
Daniel pulled a chair beside the bed and sat with his uncle’s blue Bible in his lap. He noticed the red splatters on the cover, which made his chest ache. He took the Bible to the bathroom and washed the blood off. As he was drying the cover with a paper towel, the book fell open in his hands.
There was an envelope taped inside the front cover. It was full of photographs, snapshots of him as a boy and his uncle as a younger man. Fishing together in a river somewhere in Mississippi…sunbathing on top of the Winnebago…eating chilidogs at the Varsity.
Daniel wept.
It was late when the cab dropped him back at the Saint Sebastian’s Boys Athletic Club. He used his key to open the door and headed straight for the office couch.
But he couldn’t sleep. He switched the light back on, left the office, and went to the room where Trinity had slept.
On the cot was the bulletproof vest Trinity had chosen not to wear without telling anyone. On top of the vest, a piece of paper.
Daniel picked it up and read his uncle’s handwriting…
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
OF REVEREND TIM TRINTIY
(Born Timothy Granger, New Orleans)
